Non la Dolce Vita

Non la Dolce Vita

After watching Federico Fellini’s La Dolce Vita I am left with little understanding of the film and a great deal of awareness that I know nothing about film art and certainly not enough to make even a halfway intelligent comment about it – but try I must.

The story of Marcello, the central figure in the film, is covered in a sequence of short episodes that shift from daylight and darkness. He is a writer who barely earns a living writing some sort of a gossip column, hates what he does, and dreams of writing something of value.  During the film, there is a progression from an unhappy man to a man who no longer hopes, a man who makes brief efforts to find meaning or purpose in his life, to a man who has given up effort entirely.  Initially he has a girlfriend – on whom he cheats and cheats repeatedly – who loves him in a way that he cannot or does not love.  He has sexual encounters frequently and appears to give the encounters, much less the women, any significance. He attends parties, wallowing in the nightlife of Rome in the 1960’s.  For one brief moment he does meet a young waitress who signifies all that could be pure and right.  His idol and mentor is a man who seems happily married with a perfect home and life – and who then commits suicide, removing one significant source of encouragement, one view of a meaningful life, from Marcello. Attempting to follow his progression during the mind-numbing three hours of the film is as complex as Marcello’s effort to find meaning in his life is futile.

Despite the title, this is not a story of life and hope, much less ‘the sweet life’ unless that is an alternative reference that signifies the sin and depravity Marcello seems to enjoy as an escape from his failed attempts at meaning.  Fellini captures the shadows of sin and the lightness of hope in the rotation of day to night with a mesmerizing use of shadows and religious icons embedded in his shots.   For whatever reason, Marcello fails at happiness.  Whether it is not intrinsic to his character or requires effort that he is unwilling or unable to make, he moves from low spot to lower spot until at the end, there is a sweet relief in hitting bottom, releasing the last thought of effort.  Perhaps that is the ‘sweet life’ as best he can live it.

No response to watching this film would be complete without noting the opening and closing scenes.  In the beginning, a statue of Christ is being flown across the city, suspended from a helicopter.  Marcello is following it in another helicopter, probably to report on the story.  He is distracted by the sight of some bathing suit clad women on a rooftop and he tries – and fails – to get their phone numbers.  At the end of the film, he sees the young waitress, who is fresh and pure, and he turns away not remembering her despite her effort to motion to him, to remind him.  Choices.  Communication. Hope. Despair. Fellini weaves images together without a traditional plot structure to tell the story.  He weighs a life of meaning against a life without purpose.  He captures the carnal and immoral in scenes of endless parties which appear to be far more attractive than the life of effort needed to find meaning.

I am left with many questions.  Why was Marcello unable to pursue a more meaningful life? Are some men simply not capable by their very character or genetic makeup to seek happiness or perhaps to recognize it?  Is it a character flaw or a choice? Is there sweetness in living a life of purpose or is sweetness possible only in a life without meaning, without anything that requires effort?

Beyond those questions, after watching the very lengthy La Dolce Vita I found myself hearing Italian ringing in my head.  I’m not sure that qualifies the film as a great work of art, but it did leave a lasting impression, even if it was non la dolce vita.